


the weight of all i don't know

by sadonsundays



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Avengers team - Freeform, Hurt Peter, Insomniac Tony Stark, Jealousy, M/M, Making Out, No IW mentions, No Starker smut, Past Pepper/Tony - Freeform, Peter is 17, References to Depression, SET AFTER HOMECOMING, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, So much angst, Tears, Time hop, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadonsundays/pseuds/sadonsundays
Summary: "This isn't just some crush," Peter tells him, voice breaking.





	the weight of all i don't know

**Author's Note:**

> title from "los angeles" by the midnight

There’s a boy in Peter’s grade who has a crush on him. 

His name is Derek and he’s on the soccer team. He’s got tan skin, brown hair, green eyes, and the most radiant smile. He’s tall enough that Peter has to lean back and look up at him from under his lashes, coy.

MJ was the first to tell him the news, saying Derek’s friend Apollo casually let it slip while conversing with Ned in calculus.

Ned texted MJ, trying to figure out what the next move was, when MJ took matters into her own hands and promptly told Peter herself. 

“Well?” She asks now, impatient. “He’s hot. And he wants you.”

Peter rolls his eyes, trying to fight the blush he feels creeping up the sides of his neck.

“Look,” he says in a rush, slamming his locker a little too hard, “I’ve got a quiz, can we just—“

“Peter. Don’t avoid this!”

“MJ, please. I’ve got to go— there’s this quiz, and—“ he moves away, praying she’ll drop it and not follow him.

She rolls her eyes, waving at him as he walks off faster than normal. 

“You’re not off the hook, Parker!”

Peter nervously laughs, knowing how true that is. 

Once he’s around the corner he sighs in relief, heart racing as he thinks over what he was just told.

He’s suspected for awhile Derek may be into him but to have it blatantly confirmed is a different story. 

He’s unsure how to feel, which is ridiculous, given how much he knows about Derek. 

He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s handsome and kind. He shares multiple interests with Peter and doesn’t interrupt him when he starts to go off on a passionate ramble about the latest tech he’s researching into the late hours of the night. 

He even laughs at Peter’s lame attempts to joke—something his own friends rarely do.

They’d probably have the cutest dates. Sunday walks along the river, game night at the local Orbit lounge, instagramming around Central Park eating street food just as the season starts to change. 

For all intents and purposes, Derek is perfect boyfriend material. 

There’s just one problem. 

He’s not Tony Stark. 

***

Peter’s able to evade his friends the rest of the day, choosing to deal with the “Derek Situation” at a later date. 

He throws on the spider suit, out the window before May’s home from work, swinging through the city over to Tony’s penthouse.

They have plans this weekend to go over Peter’s college choices extensively which is ridiculous because Peter is already set on NYU. He received a full ride and early acceptance— both of which were a pleasant surprise and huge relief.

When he told Tony he watched intensely for any sign he had something to with it— which Tony instantly caught onto and assured him that no, Peter accomplished it all on his own. 

Peter smiles at the memory, remembering how warm and special he felt when Tony said he was proud of him.

He doesn’t think it’ll be too big of a deal if he drops by unannounced. He’s ahead in school and May’s working late anyway. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s at the tower on the balcony. It’s a chilly evening, New York already halfway through autumn. Peter shivers as he makes his way over towards the door. He stops once he sees what’s happening inside. 

There’s a fire blazing and Pepper and Tony are on the couch, each with a drink in hand as they laugh so hard Pepper clutches her side.

An unbidden wave of possessiveness passes over Peter, so strong he nearly loses his balance. 

“What,” he mutters under his breath, confused by this jealous feeling. That’s not like him.

He’s warm, bright, sincere. He should be happy for Tony, it looks like him and Pepper are back together. Tony has missed her so much.

But Peter feels sick, heart pounding uncontrollably in his chest.

He tries to breathe but comes up short.

Tony looks up then, like he can sense Peter. Their eyes lock over Pepper’s shoulder and Tony tilts his head. His smile grows big as he gets off the couch and immediately makes his way to the balcony.

No time to bail, then.

Peter’s heart hammers as Tony gets closer. He looks so good, dressed down in a pair of worn jeans paired with a plain black tee. 

“Peter!” He exclaims as he opens the door. “To what do I owe the honor?” 

Peter nearly blushes under his mask, thankful Tony can’t see his face. 

“Oh, hi. I was just, uh—“ His pulse pounds, palms starting to sweat as he stammers up an excuse. He looks behind Tony. Pepper’s presence is throwing him off. If it were just them, he wouldn’t feel the need to justify dropping by. 

Tony raises his eyebrows, looking amused.

Peter’s cheeks grow hot. 

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” Pepper calls, smiling warmly as she glances down at her wrist.

“Good evening Miss Potts,” Peter returns, hating how nervous he sounds. 

Pepper frowns as she registers the time. 

“Oh gosh, it’s late. Shame on you for keeping me, Tony! I’ve got to get going— need to stop by the office.” She says with a fond smile, getting up and bringing her wine glass over to the kitchen sink.

Tony turns to her, flabbergasted, “Hey now—“

She waves him off, winking at Peter before pointing back towards the sink.

“Tony, that Cheval Blanc is a headache to wash so I’ll let you handle it,” she says with a smirk, picking up her blazer and bag from an armchair in the corner. 

Tony frowns, turning his back on Peter momentarily.

“Nope. No way. You just got here, come back.”

“Can’t. I’ll leave you two be, call me later.”

Peter stammers, “No, wait, let me—I’ll head out Miss Potts.”

Tony looks back at him, bewildered.

“What? Yeah, no. You stay. And you—“ he turns back to Pepper but she’s already walking out the door.

“What just happened?” Tony asks, looking at Peter as the front door closes.

Peter shrugs, confused yet guiltily satisfied at having Tony to himself. It’s not like Pepper could know how Peter felt, right? But the way she winked at him, it’s like they were sharing a secret. She probably just thinks it’s hero-worship. 

Which is true. But.

Peter shakes the thought, feeling off but ignoring it as he removes his mask.

“There’s my spiderling,” Tony says, smile wide and genuine as Peter looks at him.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter grins.

“So,” Tony begins, turning from him and walking over to the sink and soaping up Pepper’s glass, “what brings you by? It’s a Thursday night. Don’t kids your age drink UV Blue and look at dirty videos with their friends on Thursdays?”

At the mention of dirty videos Peter blushes and a burst of arousal flames in his belly. 

He pushes it down. 

“That’s...oddly specific,” he answers, “are you actually my age and not an old man?”

He pauses before adding, “And UV Blue? C’mon Mr. Stark, don’t insult me!”

Tony laughs, deep and utterly happy. 

“Hey now! That’s what the kids do. Drink cheap liquor and look at stuff they shouldn’t. I was young once!”

He sighs.

“Wow. Sometimes I do wish to be your age again—“

He trails off abruptly. Peter comes to stand by his stand as he pours the last of the soapy water out of the glass and watches it flow down the drain.

A brief silences follows while Peter waits for him to speak again. 

He doesn’t.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?”

Tony shakes his head, seemingly in a day dream. 

“Wow, weird. Yes—sorry. Anyway,” he claps his wet hands together, nearly getting water on Peter’s face, “have you eaten?”

Peter frowns but moves past the moment.

“I haven’t. Have you?”

“Nope. What should we order? Wait— we talked about this last time. There was something you were wanting to try—“

Tony snaps his fingers.

“Those deep fried chicken tacos!”

Peter grins, remembering their previous conversation. They’d been lounging on the couch earlier this week, just the two of them, when Tony asked what Peter was currently watching when he had any spare time.

“It’s embarrassing,” Peter said, twisting his knuckles.

“Try again,” Tony responded.

“Beat Bobby Flay?”

Tony laughed, face crinkled, “How is that embarrassing? I don’t mind cooking shows.”

“I don’t know! Ned and MJ make me feel silly about it.” Peter crossed his arms with a pout.

At that, Tony’s expression softened. 

“What’s your favorite thing he’s done so far?”

Peter thought about it a minute before he replied, “Deep fried tacos. Fish, beef—I can’t remember. Maybe chicken. That’s what I’d want to try.”

Tony winked at him and Peter knew it wouldn’t be long before he got what he wanted.

Now here they are, however many days later, with containers of Mexican and a suspiciously home made looking note tied to the take out bags sitting in front of them. 

“You didn’t—“

Tony just smirks, waving a hand at him as he tells him to dig in.

“So. Are we going to talk about MIT?”

“Not unless it became NYU overnight.”

“I’m just saying—“

“Mr. Stark, I know about your connections. But you should know better about mine—to this city. It’s home.”

Tony shrugs, “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just projecting my wants onto you.”

Peter smiles gently. “I know you just want the best for me.”

Tony smiles back. “Always.”

The rest of the evening passes by in a blur as Peter loses track of the time talking with one of his most favorite people. Tony seems particularly invested in how many hours Peter is putting into studying for his advanced placement exams. He refrains from reminding Mr. Stark just how smart he is. He’s not arrogant. 

By the time their conversation winds down he’s so full he can barely move. He watches, uselessly, as Tony begins cleaning up the leftover food.

“Let me help,” he murmurs, eyes feeling heavy.

“Absolutely not,” Tony replies, voice fond, “stand down, spider.”

Peter grins as he closes his eyes, dozing off in an exhausted and well-fed state.

***

When he wakes however many hours later, the living room is dim and silent and he’s covered with a warm, soft blanket that smells of vanilla. 

He didn’t mean to fall asleep but isn’t surprised he did. He’s been running himself ragged with patrol, quality bonding time with May, and keeping a 4.0 GPA. He rarely finds time to sleep but figures he can do so when he’s older. 

He thinks of Tony then and snorts under his breath. 

Yeah, right. 

He tries to will himself back to dreamland but finds he can’t get there. Something feels...strange. There’s no one around. He takes a minute before deciding to get up, stretching his arms so high his shirt rides up his stomach. 

Tony isn’t in sight. 

His mouth tastes dry and gross so he heads to the bathroom, freshening up with the guest accommodations (Pepper’s doing, he’s sure) before seeking Tony out.

He doesn’t think twice before making his way over to the private access elevator. 

“FRIDAY, please take me down to Mr. Stark’s lab.”

“Right away, Mr. Parker.”

Peter checks his watch, eyes widening when the time registers: 2:47AM.

Of course Tony isn’t in bed. Peter almost rolls his eyes. 

He knows he worries about Tony more than he should. Tony’s an adult. But he can’t help it. Tony doesn’t sleep, rarely relaxes, and never looks after himself. 

He takes care of everyone, Peter thinks, but no one takes care of him.

Well.

Peter’s heart clenches as he thinks of Tony and Pepper earlier. 

He doesn’t even know if they’re currently together or not but he wills himself not to think on the subject any further. It’s inappropriate and a tad disrespectful to wonder about Tony’s private affairs.

Not to mention it’s none of his business. 

He sighs as the elevator doors open. He can’t see Tony right away, which is odd. Normally he’s stationed at the center of the lab, surrounded by holograms and the latest bot he’s tinkering with. 

Peter walks further in, brows furrowed as he looks around.

It takes a minute before he spots him. 

His heart drops, not for the first time tonight, as he takes in Tony’s form, passed out in the rarely used couch corner. He’s still fully dressed—arms crossed, glasses askew and mouth open as he breathes. It looks as if he literally dropped there from exhaustion.

He doesn’t even have a blanket. 

Peter makes his way over on tip toes, activating mother hen mode. He locates a blanket and small pillow behind the couch, moving to place both around Tony when he pauses.

There’s deep, purplish-grey bags under Tony’s eyes— prominent in the harsh lighting of the lab. Peter’s heart breaks a little. He wants to make Tony more comfortable but suddenly finds himself terrified to wake him.

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers.

Peter yelps, jumping back a foot or so.

“Oh my gosh! You’re awake?!”

Tony blinks his eyes open with a small tilt of his lips. 

“Never really asleep these days.”

Peter frowns at him.

“You need to rest,” he says, helpless yet defiant. 

Tony tilts his head, looking up at him with the most tired yet sincere expression.

Peter’s heart pounds so loudly he’s sure Tony can hear it. 

“I know, sweetheart,” Tony responds, low and sleepy, “I was only kidding.”

Peter blushes, heart blooming with warmth at the endearment. Tony’s never called him that before. 

It‘s dangerous, how much he likes it. 

Tony raises his hand, “A little help?”

Peter grabs his hand, mindful of his strength as he pulls him up.

“Thanks Pete,” Tony says, yawning.

“What time’s it?”

“Almost 3,” Peter replies, yawning as well.

They share a laugh, brief and quiet. 

“Come on, let’s get back upstairs to actual beds, yeah?”

Peter nods, following Tony to the elevator.

As they wait for the ping Peter tries to restrain himself. He doesn’t want to push but after only a moment finds he can’t ignore his brain’s persistence.

“So...are you actually going to bed or are you just going to walk me upstairs and come back down?”

Tony chuckles, though it sounds fake. He doesn’t answer the question.

The doors open and they step into the elevator, not looking at one another.

It must be the time of night and the lack of sleep, but Peter feels petulant and annoyed. He wants Tony to answer him. He wants him to listen, even if he only thinks of Peter as a kid.

He tries to control his voice but he can’t help but whine a little. “Mr. Stark. Please. Please, come to bed.”

He realizes only after the words leave his mouth how suggestive they sound. His face flames as he looks down at the ground.

There’s a pregnant pause.

Peter thinks, hysterically, that he’s done for. He overstepped. 

A pair of feet enter his line of vision and almost immediately Peter feels fingers lift his chin.

He gaze connects directly with Tony’s and they’re so close he can see his reflection in his eyes. 

“Pete,” Tony begins, intense and much more awake then a minute ago, “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

Peter doesn’t respond. It’s like he’s frozen on the spot. His mouth opens but no words come out. 

Tony leans in, both hands on his shoulders now. 

“I promise to take better care of myself, okay? For you.”

Peter nods, heart stuttering in the beat as it trips over itself. 

His gaze lowers to Tony’s lips, just for a second—an instant— but he knows Tony saw. He couldn’t not.

Tony’s expression changes but Peter can’t read into what. 

The elevator dings and just like that, the moment is broken. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, Peter thinks miserably.

“Well,” Tony says, stepping back, “off we go. You’ve got school in the morning. And before you worry— I called May earlier.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks so much, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waves his wrist. 

Peter follows him as they round the corner away from the living area, moving down a hall Peter’s never seen before.

“Unless jeans have magically gotten softer over the years, you’ll probably need something more comfortable to wear—“

He claps his hands and turns around, walking backwards while he looks Peter up and down.

Peter bites his lip, tilting his head bashfully. 

“I think,” Tony continues, turning back around and leading them towards what must be his bedroom, “I have some old college gear that’ll fit you.”

Something hot unfurls in the pit of Peter’s stomach at the thought of wearing Tony’s clothes—he swallows, loud. 

They cross the threshold and Peter’s somewhat surprised by how minimal Tony’s bedroom is. The bed is a California king, of course, but besides that there’s only two end tables, a tall lamp, and a very comfortable, very expensive-looking leather armchair in the corner. 

Tony looks over his shoulder as they cross the room to the closet. “I don’t like having a lot of things in the same room as I sleep. It’s distracting.”

Peter gets it. 

“Have a seat,” Tony points to the chair. “I won’t allow you to come into the closet. It’s...overwhelming.”

Peter laughs a little at that. He has to. He’s seen the lab, he’s sure the closet can’t be too bad. 

He does what Tony says anyway and sits down.

His eyelids droop as he listens to Tony rummaging around, hit with an exhaustion so deep his very bones ache with it. 

“Okay, these should do—“

Peter startles, attempting to look like he wasn’t about to pass out in Tony’s chair.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Tony murmurs, coming over to him, “let’s get you to back to bed.”

He hands Peter a red MIT shirt and soft, black sweatpants. Both look worn and extremely loved. Peter fights not to bend down and inhale their scent. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, stifling a yawn. 

“No problem, kid. Guest bedroom’s just down the hall. Take a left out of here and it’s the second door on the right. Bathroom’s inside.”

For a split second, Peter’s incredibly offended. They’re literally in Tony’s room, standing next to his bed, and he’s still looked at as a guest? But then he mentally slaps himself— of course Tony meant them to sleep separate, not together. He views Peter as a child.

He almost gets angry, but he shoves it down along with the guttural disappointment as he walks towards the door.

Maybe Tony will change his mind. 

When Peter reaches the hallway, he turns around. 

Tony winks at him. Then waves. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Parker.”

Peter waves back. “Goodnight, Mr. Stark.”

Peter leaves the bedroom.

And despite the ridiculously expensive sheets and laughably large guest bed, he tosses and turns the entire rest of the night.

***

A couple weeks later Peter decides to finally have lunch with Derek.

“About fucking time,” MJ mutters under her breath.

“I heard that.”

“I meant you to.”

“At least I’m giving this a shot, I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Sure. But if you’re going to blow him off you might as well—“

“How would you know what I’m gonna do? And why is it—“

Ned comes between them, out of nowhere, and raises his arms, “Okay okay, daddy’s here to break up the kids.”

MJ snorts, and a small flame of dread flickers in Peter’s stomach as she gives Ned a calculated look. 

“You’re daddy? Try again.” She smirks.

Please no, Peter thinks.

“We both know who the actual daddy is here.”

“MJ, don’t.”

She laughs.

“Come on! Mr. Stark is totally your daddy, Peter. Don’t even deny it. You’re even wearing his shirt.”

Peter feels a faint flush spread from the tip of his ears to the lower part of his neck. He’s so embarrassed. 

He gives Ned a pleading look, silently begging for him to change the subject or drop it completely.

Ned doesn’t come through. 

“She wouldn’t exactly be wrong, Pete. You’ve got his property on and besides, the dude totally spoils you.” He shrugs, looking only a little remorseful. 

“He doesn’t spoil me, he’s helping me with some projects. And for the record, it’s laundry day.”

It’s not.

MJ gives him a dubious look.

“Sure. Okay. We’ll let the shirt slip. But feeding you every time May’s working late? Or buying you new, fancy clothes—“

Ned takes over, listing off rapidly on his fingers, “Or upgrading your phone, or sending you school supplies, or taking you—“

“That’s enough,” he snaps.

The both raise their eyebrows, taken aback by the venom in his voice. 

“Sorry,” he says immediately, feeling guilty. 

Ned looks concerned, MJ looks surprised.

“Are you okay, dude?” Ned asks.

Peter shrugs, feeling frustrated and a little humiliated. He’s been trying so hard not to think about Tony, but he always seems to come up. 

An awkward silence follows before Peter mutters, “Yeah...I’m fine.”

Neither of them look like they believe him.

“Hey, we’re sorry,” MJ says, reaching out her fist. 

“Yeah man,” Ned follows.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He bumps both, one after the other, trying to swallow his guilt over how he reacted. 

They both know about his crush on Tony, but neither have any idea just how bad the pining has gotten.

Peter’s head is a terrible mix of self-loathing, filthy fantasies, and crushing doubt. He’s so out of his element where Tony is concerned it’s driving him crazy. And beyond anything, he isn’t himself. He rarely loses control of his temper, especially with the people he cares about. 

He sighs, just barely managing to keep his shoulders from sagging. 

May’s always telling him to work on his posture.

He frowns. 

It’s just. He’s so sexually frustrated. He needs to work out all this pent up angst.

Which is how he finds himself sitting across a picnic table from Derek the following day. They’re nearing the end of their meal and Peter’s pleasantly surprised by how much he’s enjoyed it. 

The weather being beautiful always helps with his mood, as well. For it being late October in New York, it’s an unusually warm and sunny afternoon. 

“Thanks for inviting me to lunch,” Derek says, million dollar grin on display. 

Peter bites down on the last of his sandwich before answering, “Thanks for hanging out with me.”

Derek looks confused for a moment. 

“You know I’ve been wanting to spend time with you for awhile, right?”

Peter blushes and looks down, enjoying the small flutter behind his rib cage.

“I might’ve heard a thing or two,” he responds, looking up from under his lashes. 

Derek laughs and Peter takes in just how handsome he actually is. He’s tan all over, despite Halloween being around the corner—has a strong jaw line, gorgeous high cheekbones, and the sexiest flop of silky, brownish black hair.

He’s tall, too, which Peter knew. But now, looking at him, he may be as tall as Captain America.

Derek notices Peter noticing him, and Peter nearly blushes again, he really does— but he can feel the barest hint of arousal between his legs and finds he doesn’t care if Derek knows Peter finds him attractive. Derek has already expressed interest in him, why shouldn’t he reciprocate? 

He bites his lip and Derek’s eyes follow the movement, pupils dilating in the sunlight. 

“Should we...take a walk?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies, voice deeper than it was a moment ago, “let’s go.”

They end up cutting class the rest of the afternoon, much to Peter’s delight. He hasn’t skipped a school day, half or whole, his entire life. It feels good. 

They end up in a park Peter’s never been to before, circling the perimeter a few times and learning about one another before Peter invites Derek back to his place.

A voice in the back of his head warns him what will inevitably happen if they take this somewhere private but Peter ignores it. He’s 17 and hasn’t even made it to second base. 

He wants experience and he wants Derek. 

“My aunt won’t be home for another hour or so,” Peter says casually once they walk through the door a half hour later. 

“Oh, nice! How’s she doing by the way?”

Peter leads them into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of sodas from the fridge and handing one to Derek as he leans against the counter.

He arches his back, only a little. 

“She’s doing okay, thanks for asking. Always worried about me, but that’s nothing new.”

Derek nods and takes a drink, throat bobbing as it goes down. He’s so sexy. Peter crosses his ankles and tries his best to come off as relaxed. 

“That’s sweet,” Derek responds, pausing a second before asking, “so do you wana make out?”

“Please,” Peter says immediately, too keyed up to even be flustered.

Derek grins. 

Twenty minutes later the situation has somewhat escalated. 

They’ve moved from the living room couch to Peter’s bottom bunk. Both have lost their shirts and Derek has Peter sitting snug in his lap, whimpering quietly into his hair as Derek sucks a mark into the side of his neck. 

Derek smells delicious, like toasted coconuts. 

And he’s so good with his lips that saliva keeps pooling in Peter’s mouth from the feeling of them on his skin.

“Oh god,” Peter whispers, grinding sluggishly against Derek’s smooth chest as precome leaks in his boxers.

Derek moves away from his neck, smacking wet kisses along his jaw before connecting their mouths again. Their mingled pants are loud in the quiet of the room, their skin warm. 

Peter feels jittery and reckless, ready for anything. 

“Derek, ah, wow—“

“Wana fuck you,” Derek whispers against Peter’s mouth, hand trailing down his rib cage, “you’re so hot Peter—“

Peter moans as he wraps his arms tight around Derek’s broad shoulders, rubbing his clothed, aching cock against his bare stomach—“Y-yeah?”

Derek grips his ass hard, pulling him even closer, “Yeah. You’d look so good—riding me—“

Peter gasps, almost comes—but the blaring sound of his ringtone throws off his impending orgasm. 

“Oh—god—“ 

Peter pushes Derek back, alarmed by the interruption.

“Just don’t get it?” Derek suggests, sounding winded and frustrated. 

But Peter ignores him, getting up and walking, rather awkwardly, over to his desk. He’s so hard he can barely focus, much less remember where his phone is. 

“Under your backpack,” Derek supplies.

“Thanks,” Peter snaps, not having time to feel bad as he reads ‘TS’ on his screen. 

“Oh no,” he mumbles.

“Who is it? Is your aunt coming home?”

Peter ignores him as he hits answer. 

“Hello?” He tries to sound non-incriminating but fails. 

“Bad time?” Tony asks.

“Uhhh—“

“I can call back.”

“No! I can talk!” He doesn’t mean to sound so desperate but Tony never calls him first and he hates to admit how often he wishes he did.

Behind him, he hears Derek get up off the bed, rummaging around for his shirt. He turns to face him, mouthing “I’m sorry.”

Derek waves him off, pulling a shirt over his criminal abs.

Disappointment fills him but Peter doesn’t tell Tony he’ll call him back.

“Can you hang on for a minute?”

“Sure, kid.”

Peter cringes, hating when Tony calls him that. 

He walks Derek to the door, trying not to drown in how awkward the space between them feels after what they were just doing together. 

“I’m so sorry,” Peter begins, “but this is probably important. It’s for my internship—“

Derek smiles, easy and confident. 

“Hey man, don’t even worry about it. I’ll leave you my number, yeah?”

And Peter nearly melts. His flaring arousal almost kicks into gear again at just how fucking cool Derek’s acting.

“Yeah,” he replies, trying to sound just as confident, “please.”

Since Tony’s still on the phone Derek holds out his own for Peter to type his digits into. Once they make it to the door Derek leans down, gripping the side of Peter’s neck and the back of his head as he leaves him with the barest hint of a kiss—lips brushing against lips as he whispers, “Until next time.”

Peter aches.

“Sure, yeah...”

Derek’s lips tilt in the barest hint of a smile, and then he’s gone.

Peter’s heart pounds at the implication as he closes the door, licking his lips.

He clears his throat as he picks his phone back up and takes a deep breath. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Pete.”

“Hi Mr. Stark, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“That’s alright. I added a few modifications to your suit—heating included. Do you have some time?”

“Wow, thank you! And of course! Always.”

“Great. Need Happy to come and get you or can you swing by soon?” 

Peter laughs at the pun, Tony doesn’t. Something’s off. 

He pauses before answering. 

“I’ll—uh, yeah. I’ll swing over. Happy doesn’t have to get me. Is now okay or—“

Tony interrupts him, “Now is fine. I’ll see you soon.”

The line cuts off. 

Peter frowns at his phone. 

The last half hour has been one of the most bizarre of his life. 

He steps into his current suit and out the window. 

***

He enters Tony’s lab some time later, anxiety simmering in the pit of his stomach. 

He had more time to think about Tony’s tone and his quick hang up on the way over. He racks his brain, trying to think if he did anything to piss Tony off in the last week. 

He comes up empty. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Over here,” comes a call near the back of the lab, followed by a loud crash.

“Fuck—me—“

Peter rushes over, taken aback by the site that greets him.

Tony’s clutching a bloody hand to his chest while smoke streams out of what must be his newest bot. There’s a chaotic energy surrounding them as Peter moves into action, well aware of where the first-aide kits are located. 

He grabs the supplies, unsure whether they’ll need to stitch anything up. His stomach lurches at the thought. 

He makes his way over to Tony, ushering him towards the nearest chair. He sits down while Peter pulls out hydrogen peroxide and gauze.

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to sound as calm as he can despite the fact that he hates the sight of blood. He pours some liquid onto the cloth and dabs it on the worst of the wound.

“Yes, just lost focus—“ Tony hisses, trailing off. 

Peter continues cleaning him off, trying to come off as nonchalant as he can when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

He looks at Tony, Tony looks back. 

His eyes are clouded, sad. 

“Mr.—“

“Here. Give me that—“ Tony whispers, harshly, ripping the medical supplies from him. 

“Hey—“

“Kid, you’re squirming. And even paler than usual. Please—“ his voice cracks, and Peter takes in just how bad he looks, “please, just go sit down and I’ll finish this.”

Peter tries not to sulk as he wanders over to the couch but it’s a failed attempt. He may hate blood but it’s not like he doesn’t see it multiple times a week. It’s not like he doesn’t know how to handle a dire situation. It’s not like he’s a child.

He crosses his arms and sinks down into the couch, frowning deeply. 

A few minutes pass before Tony makes his way over, hand bandaged and bruised.

Peter straightens. 

“What happened?”

Tony looks irritated. “I already told you—“

Two can play that game. 

He interrupts him, “Nope. Try again.”

Tony raises his eyebrows, taken aback. 

“Excuse me?”

Peter sighs. 

He responds, rather feebly, “I just...you sounded off. Earlier. I just want to know what’s going on.”

Now it’s Tony’s turn to sigh, which he does as he sits down on the opposite side of the couch. 

“Yeah? I’m sorry, Pete. I don’t want to burden you—“ he begins.

“You won’t!” Peter exclaims too quickly. 

Tony side-eyes him. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter tries again, less intense, “you won’t.”

“Oh, kid...”

Tony looks so heartbroken that for a second Peter actually contemplates leaving and calling Rhodey or Happy to handle the situation. But a selfish, traitorous voice in his head argues any alone time with Tony is special, no matter how tormented he appears.

Which is how Peter knows he is properly fucked. In case leaving in the middle of a situation that was certain to bring him his very first outside-induced orgasm wasn’t proof enough of that fact. 

“Pepper and I are done. It seems for good this time.”

If it were physically possible, Peter’s sure his jaw would be on the floor. 

“Wait, what?” Peter asks, disbelief coloring his voice. 

Tony shakes his head, as if he himself can’t even believe it. 

“But she was just over here—what, a couple of weeks ago?”

Tony nods. 

“So what?”

“I don’t know, Peter. I wish it wasn’t...But. It’s true.” Tony clutches his injured hand even closer to his chest, looking lost and distraught. 

Peter’s heart aches for him. He’s already been through so much. 

“Can I ask what happened?”

Tony shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin, Pete. I’m sure you’ve heard but she—she wants me to hang up the suit and—“ He breaks off, forcing himself to take a long, deep breath. Peter is so proud of how he’s handling himself. 

He waits for him to gather his thoughts. 

Tony looks at him with a small smile, “Thanks.”

Peter smiles back. “For what?”

Tony doesn’t say. Just continues his train of thought. “She wanted me to stop putting myself in danger...which. Yes, of course. But...I don’t know, Peter.”

He breaks off again, taking less time to recover before muttering, “This was a long time coming. Years, maybe.”

Peter frowns. “Years?”

Tony shrugs. It’s an odd look on him, uncertain. Peter’s so used to seeing him in control that anything other than is bewildering. 

Peter reaches out a hand, waiting for Mr. Stark to take it.

He does. 

Peter squeezes, wanting to hold on, but not wanting to ruin the moment. He lets go.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Thanks Pete,” Tony murmurs, looking off across the lab, distracted. 

He’s about to probe when he remembers something Aunt May used to say. ”When people are upset, Peter, just let them talk til they’re tired.” 

This is his intention with Tony, but Tony’s intentions with him are different.

“Right,” he says, abruptly standing up. “Let’s look at your suit.”

Peter sputters, “Wait, but—“

Tony’s already halfway across the room. “I’m closing this case. We can reopen at a later date. Maybe.”

Peter’s shoulders slouch in defeat. He knows better than to argue. “Okay, Mr. Stark.”

He makes his way over to the newest suit display and to say he’s amazed upon sight is an understatement. Tony’s added a red, iron element to his suit which makes it even more like Tony’s own—an observation which leaves him pink and pleased. 

On closer inspection, Tony goes over other, less obvious but just as cool, upgrades and by the time they’re finished it’s nearing dinnertime. 

“You better get on your way, Parker. May will be worried.”

“Can’t I stay here for dinner? I’ll call her.”

Tony looks surprised, then delighted. 

“Of course you can. You’re always welcome here, you know that.”

Peter grins. 

He steps out to call May and when he walks back into the kitchen, Tony’s leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s got this smirk on his face and Peter immediately blushes, self-conscious. 

“What?”

Tony raises his eyebrows and doesn’t say anything. 

“Mr. Stark, what?” Peter says, exasperated.

Tony pushes himself off the counter, slinking towards him like a cat who got the cream. 

“I didn’t see it before,” Tony murmurs as he walks up to him, “but you’ve got quite a love bite there, kid.”

Peter’s face erupts in flames as his hand immediately comes up to cover his neck. But it’s too late. 

“Ah, ah. Let’s have a look at that,” Tony says, removing Peter’s hand and bringing it down to his side.

Peter can’t breathe.

Tony moves his own hand up to Peter’s neck, warm fingers teasing the collar of his shirt. Peter’s horrified to find himself getting hard.

“Mr. Stark, I—“

Tony shushes him as his hand tilts Peter’s jaw to the side, breaking eye contact and surely putting the mark fully on display. Peter can’t believe he forgot about it. He wishes the floor would swallow him whole. 

Tony’s other hand comes to press, gently, down on the sore mark and Peter can’t help the small, muffled groan that escapes in the back of his throat. Tony’s touch hurts, but it’s a good kind of hurt. Like when Derek gave the hickey to him in the first place. 

“Who gave you this?”

Peter closes his eyes, falling in a trance at the sound of Tony’s deep, comforting voice. 

“Peter?”

“A boy from school,” Peter answers, quiet and insecure.

“Hm.”

Peter’s fully hard now as sweat gathers on the back of his neck. A flush heats his cheeks and he can’t help but lick his bottom lip as he positively squirms under Tony’s direct attention. 

He loves having Tony’s attention. Maybe too much. 

“You let him mark you.”

Tony’s voice sounds strange, almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, though he’s not sure why he feels he has to apologize. 

Tony doesn’t reply right away.

“Mr—Mr. Stark?”

“Would you let me mark you?”

Peter nearly dies.

“I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me,” he breathes, just short of panting.

“Yeah? You’d be a good boy?”

Peter’s cock leaks as his heart hammers against his rib cage—erratic and tense.

“Yeah. I’d be so good...”

He leans into Tony, woozy from arousal.

Tony grips his biceps hard and it’s like the movement snaps him out of the reverie they’ve fallen into. Once Peter’s upright, Tony steps back, hands leaving his body like he’d been burned.

“What—“

“Jesus fucking Christ. That was not remotely okay or—or appropriate. I’m so sorry, Peter. Fuck.”

He backs away, panic filling his features as he puts the kitchen island between them. He turns away from Peter, breathing heavily. 

Peter blinks rapidly, a nervous tick developed throughout the years. He’s so lost.

“But. It’s—Mr. Stark,” he tries not to sound so breathless and fails, “it’s okay. It’s so okay.”

He musters the courage to utter, “I liked it. I like you touching me.”

Tony’s shoulders tense at the sink, and time seems to slow down completely as he turns around to face him. 

“Peter, don’t say that.”

Peter’s head pounds and sweat gathers in his palms as his heart plummets in his chest. 

“Please,” he whispers, hands shaking, “please.”

He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, but he’ll take whatever Tony’s willing to give him.

Tony’s gaze is unbreakable, pain and conflict evident in his deep brown eyes. 

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re a—“

Anger boils inside him, threatening to erupt. “Kid?” Peter snarls.

Tony throws his hands up.

“Yes, Peter. You’re in high school. I’ll be 50 in a few years, for gods sake. And lest we forget, the state of New York also agrees with me on this.”

Peter doesn’t miss a beat. “The age of consent is 17.”

Tony looks like he’s been slapped. 

“Jesus. Peter.”

Neither of them says anything for a second, tension so thick Peter can barely think. 

“Mr. Stark, just listen—“

“Peter, no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—Just. This is a bad idea. You being here, right now—“

Panic starts blossoming in Peter’s throat as he advances on Tony so quickly he has no time to push him away. 

“Mr. Stark—no—please, I want you so much,” Peter whispers, bringing his hands up to Tony’s broad chest. 

“Please don’t make me go away.”

Agony’s written all over Tony’s face as he takes Peter’s hands off of his chest and holds them in his own.

“Sweetheart. We can’t.”

He squeezes Peter’s hands.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sir, no,” Peter begs, desperation filling him.

Tony drops his hands, backing away again.

“FRIDAY, please have Happy take Mr. Parker to get food and then back to Queens.”

“Right away, sir.”

Tears fill Peter’s eyes as Tony puts even more space between them. 

“Peter, I’m so sorry. Please, sweetheart. Let’s just take some space. I’ve already hurt you. And—that’s not okay. None of this is okay. My head is a mess right now.”

“Don’t push me away—I don’t want space! This isn’t just some crush,” Peter tells him, voice breaking. 

“Sweetheart,” Tony says again, anguished.

He takes a step forward, then two back—torn.

“Why do you keep calling me that? It’s so confusing. Do you know how messed up this is? I want you—don’t you want me too?”

He hates how small and needy he sounds, how entirely ripped open and exposed he feels. But he pushes on—fear of never having another chance eating at his insides.

“I think about you. When I’m in my bed.”

“Peter, stop.”

“I touch myself. And then today, I almost let my classmate fuck me. But then you called—and I couldn’t—“

Tony slams his hand down on the countertop, face stained red. 

“Peter. Enough.”

Peter flinches, shame flooding his system as flight mode kicks in. He grabs his stuff so quickly he doesn’t even know if he gets everything. 

“Peter, wait. I’m so sorry.”

“Sir,” FRIDAY interrupts him, “a car is waiting downstairs for Mr. Parker.”

“Peter, we’ll talk this through—“

“I’m going.” Peter backs away, shoving his old suit into his backpack as he frantically blinks tears away. 

He practically sprints to the door, feeling like an idiot. But part of him still hopes. For the second time in recent memory, he can’t help but think Tony will stop him as he flees. 

He doesn’t.

***

Pepper and Tony get back together less than a week later.

Peter and Tony don’t speak for months. 

In reality, Peter knows Tony is always keeping tabs on him, making sure he’s safe. But as for directly reaching out—he’s giving Peter space. 

Which is...fine.

He does attempt to communicate in his own special way—continuing to send Peter drones with dinner, “anonymously” gifting him the latest Stark laptop, having Captain America and Black Widow drop in sporadically to take him out to train around the city. 

Peter doesn’t want them, though.

He wants Tony.

But since he can’t have him, he continues seeing Derek. 

Ned and MJ both notice how much quieter he’s become—but he can’t tell them anything. And he can’t talk to May, even though his heart hurts with how much he wants to. 

He pushes it all away.

The holidays pass by in a blur and Peter has to pretend it’s happy tears he cries on Christmas morning when May hands him a package from Tony. 

It contains his favorite candies, a framed photo of May, current big name tech, physics and chemistry essays (all personally autographed), 3 Star Wars lego sets, and a big, comfy NYU sweatshirt. It’s so sentimental and thoughtful Peter almost calls him to say thank you.

He sobs into his pillow Christmas night instead. 

On New Year’s Eve, he lets Derek fuck him.

He doesn’t cry afterwards but when a single tear slips out as Derek sleeps beside him, he can’t help but feel he’s lost more than his virginity. 

By mid-January he knows he’s fallen into a depression but he chalks it up to the dark, cold winter and his first real heartbreak following Ben’s death.

He pushes on. 

He sleeps most weekends away if he’s not with Derek or his friends. He knows May worries about him so he tries to be brave and put on a happy face.

It hurts more than helps most of the time. 

At the end of February, Tony ships him the fully finished version of the Iron Spider suit, complete with a note.

“I’m here -TS” 

Peter ignores it.

He loves the suit, more than anything anyone has ever given to him. He wears it constantly—out on patrol, in training, casually swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper. 

The photographers love it, too. 

“NEW LOOK NEW HERO?” Is the headline across the Times one morning. Peter smirks at it. Then frowns. 

If only they saw what was underneath. 

He wishes a new look could make him a new person. He wishes he could rid his heart from all the weight of the last few years and move on. He wishes he could talk to Tony. 

He feels like there’s a clock constantly racing in his head—pushing him to move on, to find someone new, to find someone else.

No one compares. 

Most days the situation feels so hopeless he’s too exhausted to even properly deal with it.

So he keeps to himself and nurses his heartache alone. 

By the time spring rolls around, Peter decides to stop seeing Derek.

“Is there someone else?” He asks, bottom lip jutting out in a heartbreaking pout.

Peter can’t answer.

In an effort to keep himself from wondering if he’s made a huge mistake, he begins studying intensely for his advanced placement exams. There isn’t a lot riding on him doing well, he just wants to impress—himself. He wants to do well for himself. 

Throughout the rest of his senior year, Tony only tries to call him once.

For the first time since they met, Peter lets the call go to voicemail. 

Tony doesn’t leave one.

After patrol one evening, Natasha formally invites Peter to begin training with the entire team. Their sessions occur in a high tech combat facility—located in the basement of Stark Tower. Peter readily agrees, though his throat dries out at the thought of seeing Tony again.

The thing is though, Tony never trains with them. 

Talk of his retirement constantly looms in the distance, but no one confirms or denies anything. Peter thinks of Pepper disdainfully in his head. 

A couple weeks into April, Peter overhears Clint and Natasha discussing with Bruce how Pepper and Tony are finished—it sounds permanent. 

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” Bruce tells them with a shrug.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be so hard,” Clint responds. 

Peter pushes down the hope that bubbles inside him at the news.

A part of him expects to hear from Tony that week but he continues to keep his distance.

Peter wishes he wouldn’t. 

In late May, on the night of his high school graduation, Peter, as valedictorian, stands up to give a speech about the future. Once he organizes his index cards and looks up, he’s unexpectedly confronted by his past. 

He must think his disguise is excellent—a black ball cap paired with a classic set of designer shades. But Peter thinks he’s an idiot. He sticks out like a sore thumb, even with donning a sleek black and orange hoodie that does nothing to hide how broad his shoulders are.

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but finds he’s terrified. 

The first time he’s seen Tony in half a year and it has to be here? On his turf? 

He fights the urge to bite his nails and shuffles his feet, trying to ground himself. 

It’s so quiet in the auditorium he can hear traffic outside the building, cars honking and street vendors yelling. 

He knows he’s panicking, he knows he’s going to screw up, he’ll surely—

But then Tony just nods his head—

—and something in Peter snaps back into focus. 

He gives a stellar speech, hilariously comparing graduating high school and moving on to the real world to making a quesadilla. The crowd loves it, even giving him a standing ovation at the end.

He can’t see anyone but Tony.

He looks for him after he’s walked and picked up his diploma but May, MJ, and Ned whisk him away to Bruno’s Restaurant before he can even properly look for him. 

Their meal is already paid for when they arrive and the three of them give Peter a pointed look as they sit down. 

“Don’t ask me,” he mutters, blushing. 

He tries to stay present throughout the meal—he’s with his three favorite people in the world after all—but his mind keeps replaying the look on Tony’s face once he finished his speech. How happy he looked, how proud he seemed as he clapped along with everyone else. 

After saying goodbye to Ned and MJ for the evening, Peter decides he’s done enough pining. 

He tells May he’s heading to bed, exhausted from the big day, and she doesn’t question it as she kisses his forehead.

“Im so proud of you. But you’ll always be my baby,” she whispers into his skin. 

Peter closes his eyes, fighting back tears. 

“I love you,” she says as she settles down on the couch to watch The Great British Bake Off. 

“I love you more,” Peter replies, heart full.

As he makes his way to his bedroom he fights down the guilt. He hates lying to May, but at the same time—he’s been so good. He aced his exams, graduated top of his class, got a full ride to a great local college, and pulled everything off while working part-time and maintaining his first ‘real’ relationship. 

Not to mention all while battling depression. 

So he deserves this, dammit. He deserves to be happy. 

He throws on the suit, pumped up by adrenaline, and makes his way through the fresh soon-to-be summer air.

There’s a loopy, freefall sensation building in his stomach as he drops between building stories—soaring through the night like a bird in flight. The vice like hold on his heart is slowly beginning to ease—leaving him feeling lighter than he has in months. 

He swings by buildings so quickly they’re merely blurs in the corners of his eyes. Training with the team has built his confidence to new levels. He feels grounded in his speed and strength—finally fully accepting his powers as part of his identity after all these years. 

He can feel the muscles in his arms moving as he swings from rooftop to rooftop, the city lights shining down on him as he gets closer to Stark Tower. 

His heart’s pounding so hard it could burst, his lungs expanding so far they burn. He hasn’t felt this alive in months. He’s not even scared of what awaits him.

He’s done being scared. 

When he lands on the balcony of the penthouse, Tony is already there. 

“Mr. Parker. I’ve been waiting,” he says, city lights twinkling in his eyes as he bounces back and forth on his toes.

He smiles. 

And even though he can’t see it under the mask, Peter smiles back.

***

“It’s so good to see you,” Tony says once they sit down in the living room.

“You too,” Peter says softly.

“And congratulations, by the way. I couldn’t be more proud of you, Peter.”

Peter tilts his head, hugging himself close with a small smile as he replies, “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Tony takes a deep breath, turning to face him head on. 

“Peter, I wanted to start by saying how sorry I am. The last time we were together, I was completely inappropriate- whether my behavior was welcomed or not.”

Tony places a hand on his knee and squeezes, and suddenly, Peter’s courage dissipates. He moves to fiddle with his hands in his lap, steadfastly not looking over at the other man. 

But Tony isn’t having it.

His other hand comes to grip Peter’s chin gently as he turns his head to face him again. Peter’s eyes widen when he realizes how close they actually are. 

“There you are,” Tony murmurs.

“I’ve missed you,” Peter admits, heart in his throat. 

“I’ve missed you too, so much.”

Tony leans in and wraps his arms around him, hugging him so tightly their chests touch from top to bottom. It’s a far cry from the first hug they ever shared in the back of Tony’s car. 

This one is desperate and real, like they’re both scared the other will disappear once they break apart. 

So they don’t. 

Tony puts a little space between them, but he grips Peter’s trembling hands in his own, keeping contact.

“Is this okay?”

Peter nods. He can’t believe even after all these months how comforting Tony’s touch still is.

Tony continues. 

“Back in the winter, please don’t misunderstand. Of course I was interested in you.”

Peter perks up while simultaneously bracing for the let down. 

“But my relationship of a decade had just ended. And then—it ended again. My head wasn’t in the right place. At all. Not until recently. And I wouldn’t touch you Peter, not because I didn’t want to. But because it would’ve been taking advantage of you...Because I knew how you felt about me. Do you understand?”

Peter thinks he does. He nods wordlessly.

“I wasn’t about to start with you, when I couldn’t stop with Pepper. That wouldn’t have been fair to you or to her. But yet. I still led you on—with my actions that night. With my words.” Tony shudders, looking a little like he’s cringing internally. 

Peter can’t help but crack a small, weary smile. 

“It’s okay, Mr—“

“Tony. After everything—please, call me Tony. And it’s not okay, Peter. You keep saying sorry and you have nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who’s sorry. How I acted...It was selfish, inconsiderate. It was not at all a reflection of how much you truly mean to me.”

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but pauses. 

Tony lets him think.

“But, wait...”

Tony raises his eyebrows. 

Peter squeezes his hands. 

“What exactly do I mean to you?”

Tony laughs, disbelieving.

“Do you really not know?”

Peter frowns. “Well, no. Months of radio silence would speak to that.”

“Peter...”

Tony looks hurt. Good. 

“I wanted to give you space. So you’d have time to—“

The pieces start to fall into place and Peter’s survival mode kicks in. For a moment the only color he can see is red. 

“To what? To get over you?” Suddenly he’s seething. And everything that’s been hidden under the surface for months on end begins to awake. 

“Yes and—“

Peter interrupts him. “Do I get a chance to speak or is this gonna be the Tony Stark show? Like everything else?”

Tony shuts his mouth. 

Peter knows the jab wasn’t warranted, but if he lets Tony steamroll he won’t ever get a chance to tell him the truth. 

All he wants is to be true.

“Sorry...”

“Don’t be, I deserved that.”

He didn’t, but Peter doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts. Acting like a child isn’t going to win him any points here. 

“Listen. If you were expecting me to come here tonight and tell you that I’m over you, that I’ve moved on—it’s not going to happen.”

He stands, needing the extra height to feel tall and project an image of confidence. It probably won’t work, Tony will probably see right through him like he always does. 

But still. He has nothing if not denial. 

He walks a few steps forward, garnering the strength to turn around. 

Tony’s elbows are on his knees as he stares up at him, eyes wet and shining.

“I’m in love with you,” Peter confesses, though it feels more like a liberation than a secret. 

“Do you know that?”

Tony looks shellshocked, like all the air has left his body.

“You...are?”

The “still” hangs in the silence.

Now Peter laughs, hysteria building behind his ribs and twisting away around his heart. 

“Yes? Duh? I mean—obviously? For years now. But you knew that—at some point. And look, I appreciate what you tried to do after all this time—giving me space, staying away. And I can see how even now—you’re already thinking of ways to be “the bigger man” and let me down easy. Or whatever. Probably going to list your flaws, past traumas, impossible dilemmas—like? Oh. The Age Difference.”

He doesn’t use quotes, but he’s sure Tony can hear the capital letters as he speaks them. 

He waits for Tony to catch up with his ramble. He should feel embarrassed but at this point, he’s tired of all the bullshit. 

He’s felt like dying so often the last 6 months. 

He just wants the universe to let him live.

Tony opens his mouth, closes it. Nods for Peter to continue. 

“You’re single now. And so am I. Gender’s always been irrelevant to me. And I think—with you too? I’m out of high school. About to start college right down the street. I’m much smarter than most people my age and I can keep up with you, can’t I? And beyond everything—“

He pauses to take a breath.

Tony looks at him with something awfully close to affection.

He resumes his speech. “I’ve become accustomed to an extraordinary type of life most normal people will never understand. And if there’s a point to life, to any of this—it’s about being understood. Right? So tell me why I would ever want to be with someone who will just...”

He throws his hands up, helpless. “...never get it?”

He hugs himself again as he looks into Tony’s eyes, feeling terribly vulnerable. 

“You get it, Tony.”

After everything, Tony knows better than to argue. 

“You’re right.”

Peter’s heart could burst.

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely.”

He looks like he’s about to add “kid”, but thinks better of it. 

Peter beams.

He feels the clouds beginning to move away, making way for the sunshine he’s missed so much.

He throws his hands up in surrender. “Can we be done for now? I promise we can revisit the crisis you’re sure to have later tomorrow. But for now...I’m exhausted. And I just want to kiss you.”

Tony scoffs. “Seriously?”

Peter crosses his arms. “Seriously.”

“Come here.”

***

Peter’s laughs turn to groans the longer he’s in Tony’s bed. 

They’ve been laying in it for hours, talking quietly and sleepily as the night goes on.

They also kiss--a lot. Alternating between light pecks, deep kisses, and full blown dirty making out as each of them reveal a little bit more about themselves to the other. 

There’s no rush to take their clothes off.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Tony tells him, rolling atop him and pinning him to the mattress. There’s not much strength in his hold. He’s clearly exhausted. 

Peter is too, but he’s also wired. He’s so happy he’s terrified.

This feels like everything he’s ever wanted.

“Me too,” Peter responds, closing his eyes as Tony kisses him gently.

Tony pulls back, making sure he has Peter’s full attention.

“What?”

“Just thinking.”

Peter giggles. “Yeah? About?”

“About how I’m in love with you,” Tony tells him, raw and open and vital as the arc reactor in his chest.

Peter doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

“Is that okay?”

Peter closes his eyes, but he doesn’t see darkness. 

For the first time since Ben died, he sees light. 

“Yes.”

He opens his eyes. 

“You already know...you’ve known all along.”

Tony kisses his forehead. “Say it anyway.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. 

“I’m in love with you, Tony.”

Peter’s entire life has been a series of before and after. Before Ben’s death, after Ben’s death. Before the bite, after the bite. Before Berlin, after Berlin.

Before Tony. And—

There is no after, he thinks. 

There’s only now. 

In his head, the clock has finally stopped ticking.

**Author's Note:**

> please don't hate me for omitting smut between T/P. it just didn't feel right this time. i promise i'll make up for it eventually. kudos/comments literally FUEL me and motivate me to keep writing so please don't be shy! that includes constructive criticism--i welcome it. thank you so much for sticking with me as i feel these two out--they're special to me and i hope that was reflected in this. thanks for reading :)


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